I may have stumbled
Fallen into a pit
Hurt and bruised,
Dirt and mud,
a blanket around me
My voice lost
Like so many others
Deep in the sea
But I would stand
As I am not dead yet
Revive my energy
Rejuvenate myself
As a duty, a calling
Lies on my shoulder
As dead, still eyes
Watch me with hope
Be assured,
I would not die unspoken

trapped
inside of this box,
sitting on a deck,
and surrounded with thorns and snags.
white, sharp spikes.
a single move, would bleed my skin,
leaving bloodpools and red stains.
wall made of glass,
creating infinite illusions,
deceiving to the eyes
trapped, looking for demise,
screaming till the mirror starts to crack,
the same image appear,
within the new pieces.

I used to think I was flawless, truth is I am less than perfect.
I can't believe how awful I am, but I mean, what do you expect?
I am less than perfect, that much is true, but I can't help but wonder
What does perfection physically look like? Each of these ideas I plunder.

I don't know. I'm not sure about anything anymore. Haven't a clue.
Everywhere I look, it's just multiple copies of the darkest shade of blue.
Everyone stares at me, their soulless eyes, a dead, glazed look.
So I try to keep my head down, hiding behind my many notebooks.

Perfect. Why even have a word for something that doesn't exist?
It's a useless word, something I try to avoid but it always persists.
Sometimes I think about if I were perfect. What would I look like? Act?
Then I try to push the many thoughts away, they're way too abstract.

What does it mean to be perfect? It means to not have ANY flaws.
That's all I'll ever hear, "Be more perfect, you'll gain some applause!"
I hate that I have live with this idea of perfection, it's a "utopia", so dumb.
So I have to change myself to be the person that people want me to become.

My heart begged me to
do something dramatic and
so I set it free

7:39 AM
29/1/20

Dear diary;
All of the good days are nothing
compared to the emptiness I feel
since she took her away-
or more like a piece of me away.
And now I think I am getting sick
from all of the poison she fed me
over the past year-
that's all she left.

I keep hurting
myself with thoughts
that I may or may not mean.
There's a storm raging
inside my head-
silvery clouds I
cannot tame.

The No One is a charming girl
She flirts and sips and chirps and flits
Everybody has seen her
Though nobody can ever quite recall

The No One is a breezy mist of perfume
She sways and leads and flails and flees
She will ruin you
Though you will just as easily let her

She is always seen, never known
Always heard but never shown as anything more than a shadow or a fleeting moan

She destroys all she touches, though she never means to hurt
She never feels the fire in the match she holds til its long dead and burnt

Long gone
You cannot love the no one

Dear diary;
who am I?
Whoever I am,
I frighten me.

Dear diary;
I thought about dying today...
or so I thought I did.
I think about death a lot lately
and I'm not too sure I
know the difference.